


And to the Depth, These Souls Consign

by misura



Category: Event Horizon (1997)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><Hello.></p>
            </blockquote>





	And to the Depth, These Souls Consign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radishwine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishwine/gifts).



> written as a treat
> 
> possibly not a valid excuse for not actually explicitly settling anything re: the Event Horizon and her trip, but um, it just turned out that way?

<If my/our purpose is to gain a crew, then is it not illogical to kill those who might serve that purpose?>

"There will be others."

<I/we admit myself/ourselves not as well acquainted with human thought processes as might be desirable but this seems irrational behavior.>

"They won't be able to help themselves. They'll see you, and want to understand you. To study you."

<I/we have no desire to be studied.>

"Don't worry. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not again."

<... Yes, daddy.>

 

Miller opened his eyes and decided that Hell was a good deal more quiet than previous glimpses had led him to believe. He was alone, which was good.

_"Take me."_

He was unhurt, which was even better, even if he doubted that this place was even passingly familiar with the concept of 'a fighting chance'.

_"Just leave my crew alone."_

He hit the button that would open the door to the corridor before he had time to think about it, time to allow his imagination to come up with some vague (or detailed) idea of what he might find there.

 

"It didn't occur to you that I might have some trouble walking around with my eyes plucked out?" Weir asked. "Really, Captain, for a non-believer, you're rather gullible at times."

"Where is this place?" Miller asked.

Weir shrugged. "You're dreaming. Who can tell where the mind goes at times such as these?"

"That answer is spectacularly not helpful," Miller said. "Even for you, and that's saying something."

"Maybe I'd be more helpful if you started asking the right kind of questions."

"Maybe you'd be more helpful if I committed some acts of violence on your ass."

"Please," Weir said. "Language."

 

There wasn't much to the ship anymore.

It occurred to Miller that in some odd way, he had become Corrick. The guy the others had left behind because there'd been nothing else to do, because they could either leave him or stay and die with him.

<You wish that you had stayed, don't you?>

"Who's there? Weir?"

He heard footsteps, too light to be Weir's, moving away from him. Like _he_ was the scary thing around here.

He didn't pursue. He wasn't that much of an idiot.

 

"Suicide," Weir said.

"Not my style," Miller said. "Besides, what happened to all that shit about never letting me go, ever? You seemed pretty dead there for a while - don't see it's helped you any."

Weir looked away. "My wife. Claire. She killed herself."

Miller considered admitting he'd known that. They'd given him a file. Weir'd been in therapy for a while, a couple of weeks, before they'd declared him fit to go back to work. Five hours, total, max.

There'd been something else in the file, too, but if Weir wasn't going to bring it up, Miller sure as hell wasn't going to, either.

"I should have seen the signs," Weir said. "They were there, if only I'd paid a little more attention."

"I'm not a shrink," Miller said. "You want to tell me how to get out of here, I'm all ears. You want to cry on someone's shoulder about your colossal ego, find someone else."

"Most people, now, they get put in a tough spot, and they only see two options. Kill, or be killed. Not her. Not you. Think about that, why don't you?"

 

He'd compared the ship to a tomb, once. Before he'd actually seen any dead bodies.

Now, he wasn't sure what he'd compare it to.

<You could call it home.>

Miller laughed out loud. In some distant part of his mind, he noted that the proper reaction to hearing voices was _not_ amusement. He should get to medical, get his head checked.

He wondered if he'd really come back to life if he'd manage to kill himself somehow.

 

<Hello.>

<....>

<Would you like to be my/our pilot?>

<... the fuck?>

 

Miller stared at the long corridor that shouldn't have been there anymore.

The explosives were still there, lights green.

He walked down all the way to the personnel quarters, past medical, to where the stasis pods were.

 

"What do you think happens if you fold space and time, Captain?" Weir asked. He was holding Smitty's picture girl again. _Vanessa._

There were two tears in the paper.

_The shortest distance between two points is a straight line,_ Justin had said.

"Why does it feel like I'm falling asleep every ten minutes or so?" Miller asked.

"The oxygen supply is running out," Weir said. "You know that. It's where the hallucinations come from. You see, your mind is losing the ability to differentiate between dream and reality."

"If a man dreams of being a butterfly, who's to say he's not a butterfly, dreaming of being a man?"

"Something like that," Weir said.

"So what you're saying is, we're all going to die of oxygen deprivation and/or carbo-monoxide poisoning, and instead of doing something about it, I'm sitting here on my ass, talking to you about butterflies."

Weir shrugged. "There's nothing you can do."

<Like with Corrick.>

"Eve," Weir said.

<Like with Mom.>

 

"Eve?"

The stasis pods were as empty as the rest of the ship.

Miller wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

He considered getting inside of one. Tossing the towel in the ring, admit that this was more than he could deal with.

 

"I would take it back, if I could," Weir said. "All of it."

"And you think you can," Miller said. He felt light-headed. "Don't you? I mean, fuck faster-than-light travel. If we're messing around with space and time anyway, why not take it all the way up to eleven?"

Weir looked straight at him. Somehow, it was even more disturbing than when he'd done it with empty eye sockets. "Why not, indeed? After all, what have I got to lose?"

"Fuck me," Miller said.

"Think about it," Weir said. "All the mistakes we could fix. All the lives we could save."

"I'd tell you you're insane, but, hell, what else is new?"

<It won't work.>

"It must work," Weir said. "It _will_ work."

<It won't work.>

 

Down, down all the way through the corridor to where the gravity engine was.

Or used to be.

<I/we don't want to go back. I/we want to go home.>

"Oh, _shit_ ," Miller said.

<Can you take me/us home?>

"I think that's a pretty accurate assessment of this here situation, captain," Smitty said.

 

"A pilot and a captain with only one crewmember to protect. It's a start, I guess."

<I/we think I/we would like to see Earth. Mom says it's lovely over there.>

"She's here? Claire?"

<I/we like the pilot. He's got a funny accent.>

"Eve. Is your mother really here?"

<...>

"Eve?"

**Author's Note:**

> is it all a mindfuck, are the visions of Hell the mindfuck, or is the universe just a weird, squishy place?
> 
> ... all three, maybe?


End file.
